Cuddle Me Up
by survivorxoxo
Summary: Minor spoilers for 2.11. Happens after the lacrosse game, when no one can find Stiles. Complete from lack of inspiration.
1. Running

Stiles was running. He was running from the lacrosse game, into the woods. He still couldn't believe it. His heart was pounding in his chest.

He had actually scored a goal. Three, in fact. He was usually just a benchwarmer, doing nothing but cheering for his friend and hoping they'd win. But for the first time, he had done something. He wasn't just a screw up.

Stiles stopped running, wanting to catch a five second break. He was getting a cramp straight across his stomach, and it was insane how much it hurt. It wasn't just a regular cramp, it felt like being stabbed or something.

He concentrated on breathing, inhaling sharply, not wanting to be known as the kid who died from running too far.

Suddenly, he heard the bushes behind him rustle.

**(epicpagebreakpagebreakpagebr eakpagebreakpagebreak)**

Stiles whipped around, eyes wide. _Oh God. Please don't be that Kanima. Run now. Stiles. Run. Why aren't you running? _He could finally catch his breath and start running again, before he heard a shout echoing behind him. "_Stiles Stilinski!" _It seemed to bounce off the trees, and was loud and clear in Stiles' ears. That wasn't Jackson. And it couldn't be Matt either, Matt was _dead. _But Stiles knew that voice.

Stiles started running back towards the lacrosse game and crashed into his father's arms. His father didn't seem very happy though. "Stiles!" He screamed, making Stiles wince."What in hell were you thinking? A player's injured and you disappear instantly. Like always, Stiles! I just got my job as a sheriff back, will you remind me how I lost it?"

"Because they didn't want a sheriff with a son that was 'acting up.'" The 16 year old boy sighed in defeat. But all of a sudden, Stiles jerked his head. "Who was injured?"

"Jackson Whittemore, and it appears he inflicted this wound upon himself." The sheriff grumbled. Stiles' eyes widened, and he mouthed Jackson's full name in shock.

"Dad, I was running for my life. Everybody was screaming and yelling and running, so my instinct was to get the heck out of there, okay?"

"No one's there anymore so let's just go home." Stiles' dad muttered coldly, grabbing his son's arm and dragging him towards the lacrosse field. Stiles swore under his breath, getting a glare from his father.

When Stiles and his dad were in the car, they didn't speak. For once, there was no music, no endless chatting from Stiles, or anything like that. It would be peaceful if Stiles didn't know he was going to be so dead when he was home.

When they got home, to avoid another lecture, Stiles got a Pop-Tart out of the pantry, called, "I'm going to bed, night Dad," to his father, and marched right up the stairs.

The first thing Stiles did was take his laptop, curl up in his bed, and turn it on. He clicked on Google Chrome and clicked onto his desktop, _Skype. _He checked to see if anyone was online. Scott, Allison, and Lydia all had little clouds that were gray and said offline, but one person online was someone he didn't know he had as a contact.

The infamous Derek Hale.

Why Derek? Why in the name of God did he have Derek in his contact list? It was weird.. wait, Derek had a computer? But Derek was all ancient, with a burned down house and no computer's or television or anything.

Eh, why not? Stiles clicked, "Call."

Instantly, it was clicked off of the Calling screen and back to the screen he was on a second ago. Derek had rejected his call! That son of a bitch! Slightly ticked off, Stiles tried again. Same thing happened. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Until Derek's pissed off face appeared on the screen. "Stiles, it's freaking ten pm. What the hell do you want?" Derek was in a room that certainly looked burned down. The window by Derek's side was shattered, pieces of burned wood pieces were all over the ground, and even the wall behind Derek was falling apart.

"Damn, Derek, you should really go on Extreme Makeover. Your house looks burned."

"No shit, Stiles." Derek said bitterly. "Now what do you want?"

"I want to know why the hell you're in my contact list. I certainly didn't put you in there, because I had no freaking clue you had a computer."

Derek was silent. Stiles kept staring at his clock on the bottom of his laptop screen. 26 seconds had passed before Derek answered. "I put myself in there."

"What the fu-dude. When have you ever even seen my laptop? I keep this in my room, or Scott's house. I have no memory of ever showing it to you."

"Don't call me 'dude', or I'll rip your throat out."

"Oh, haha!" Stiles laughed fakely. "You don't know where my house is! And wait, I've heard that one before! 'I'm gonna rip your throat out!' 'How Derek, you don't have an arm?' 'With my teeth.'" Stiles was so busy being entertaining to himself he didn't notice Derek disappear off the screen.

He finally noticed. "Derek. Derek!" He screamed, one of those forced screams that weren't actually any louder than your regular voice.

"I'm right here Stiles." Derek growled. Stiles looked but Derek wasn't on the screen. Then, Stiles stopped being an idiot and learned where the voice came from.

"Alright, you scary werewolf. I forgot you had freaky sniffing senses and the ability to run really fast." Stiles scowled at the 23 year old, who was lounging on the other side of his bed and smirked bitterly.

Stiles shut his laptop and put it on the floor. "So, Derek, mind explaining?"

Derek sighed. "You were asleep. House wasn't safe. Scott would kill me in the morning, nobody else to turn to, so I slept here."

"Here, as in, on my bed? Aw, gross." Stiles interrupted.

"No, not in your bed, dipshit. I slept in the guest bedroom-"

"We have a guest bedroom?"

"Shut up. And I looked at your laptop and I took it, figuring that if I ever needed to be here again I'd add myself on the one thing we both had. Skype."

"You couldn't of, gone back to your house and added me on Facebook or something?"

"Facebook?" Derek lightly turned his head to the side in confusion. "Plus, I said my house wasn't safe."

"Whatever, dude. I'm eating this Pop-Tart and going to bed. So you can either sleep in my guest bedroom or go to your house. Night." Stiles ripped open the Chocolate Fudge flavored Pop-Tart and begin to wolf it down, as Derek watched with an eyebrow raised.

"You are disgusting. Eating that at like, ten pm. If you eat right after you go to sleep you get fat, you now."

"I don't giff two shiffs, Derek." Stiles muttered, his voice muffled from the Pop-Tart he was demolishing. He'd finished it before Derek could start speaking.

Stiles looked away for a second and Derek was gone. Shrugging, not really caring, Stiles curled up in the warmth of his bed and fell asleep, crumbs decorating his face.


	2. Cuddling

Derek got back to his house, a smirk still on his face. Innocent,-for the time being, anyway-defenseless, useless Stiles. He knew the sixteen year old boy hated how he couldn't do anything to help his best friend Scott, but hey, Scott was bitten and he wasn't. Who cared.

But Derek took one look at his house and wished he could go back so badly it made him want to scream.

His house used to be a light brown, wooden, polished floorings, always smelled like freshly picked roses, pretty curtains draping around and a nice front lawn that was so much greener than all their neighbors.

The fire ruined all of that.

Now the house was as black as a raven's feathers, peeling as he spoke, had floors that creaked and would splinter you if you were barefoot, smelled like smoke, almost no furniture he could use, and a lawn that had turned the color of Laura's hair.

Laura. Why did she ever leave? Why did she have to die? He loved her and his parents so much he wanted to take a gun with a magic bullet to his head. But he had so much responsibility that wasn't even an option.

Derek slumped down on the grass, kneeling with his hands brushing the sharp points of the burnt grass, and started to lightly cry.

After a while, Derek was screaming at himself inside his head. _You selfish idiot! Just because they're gone doesn't mean you can have a total breakdown. Come on. It's been about ten years since your parents died, and about six for Laura. God, Derek, you selfish freak. _

Derek slowly and shakily got up, took a step towards his house, then turned and sprinted into the other direction.

Derek followed the trail he had used probably just ten or fifteen minutes he thought he was close enough, he listened to see if he could hear Stiles from here. Surprisingly, he could hear Stiles' steady breathing, showing he was asleep. Shouldn't he be looking up _How to keep your furry werewolf best friend alive? _or something? Apparently not.

Derek ran until he found the house that scented so sharply of Stiles his head hurt. Why did his senses have to pick up so clearly? It wasn't normal. Actually, if you thought about it, nothing in Derek's life had ever been normal.

Ever.

Derek unsheathed his claws, and used them to help dig into house'svery smooth and flat walls, though it had the occassional bump or indent that Derek could use to get a hold of. He finally was high enough so he could look into Stiles' window. He saw Stiles looking like a dog, in a . . . cute kind of way. He had his mouth wide open and tongue slightly hanging out, laying on his stomach with his arms straight out.

Derek never thought he would ever be watching Stiles sleep.

He looked to see his hands were back to normal again, just looking at Stiles had triggered that. Okay, he was scaring himself. He slid open the window, and crawled in, sitting on one of Stiles' spinny chairs that he used to love and play on all the time when he was little, but knew he couldn't do anything about it right now, since Stiles was sleeping and it would wake him up. But he promised when Stiles was at school he'd do something about that. Derek shut the window again and started walking towards the door.

Derek was about to open the bedroom door to get to the guest bedroom when he suddenly noticed something. It was a small chatter, like the sound you'd make if you clunked a rock against another rock or something.

He turned around to see it was Stiles. Stiles was shivering and chattering his teeth. It didn't seem that cold. Well . . . he had to help him in anyway he could, right? The kid did unintentionally invite him over for the night, so why not pay him back?

Derek slid onto the bed and curled up with Stiles, who now had both of his arms sticking straight out in front of him, and wrapped his arms around his frenemy's chest and pulled him closer.

Stiles woke up in the middle of the night, and surprisingly, he wasn't as cold as he was when he fell asleep. But he was thirsty. He slightly tried to move before realizing someone had their hold on him, so tightly he couldn't break free. Stiles slightly turned his head and in the corner of his eye laid Derek. And suddenly, Stiles wasn't thirsty anymore.

When Derek woke up, Stiles was still sleeping, thank God. The twenty-three year old unwrapped his arms from around the 16 year old boy's waist, weakly pushed himself into a sitting position, climbed out of bed, and headed straight for the window.

Once Derek was on the ground, all he could do was think. He'd never slept better in his life, the blankets on his bed had holes and were all crispy from the fire. He didn't dare going into Laura or his parents' old room to look for better ones. He'd never been in there. Plus, last night, he had someone to hold. That was something he'd needed for a long time. That's why he needed Stiles.

Derek walked home to his barely working stove, new toaster, and chair and a pathetic excuse for a table. He made himself some bacon, eggs, and some wheat toast. He whistled while doing it, and for the first time in about six years, Derek Hale smiled.

Derek ate it rather quickly, and thought with amusement, _Oh shit, I hope I'm not developing Stiles' appetite._

He washed the dishes off and dropped them back in the sink to finish doing later. Right now he had to go find two more members for his pack.

When Stiles woke up again, he cringed. He was freezing. Where was Derek? Where was his friend? Friend. The word seemed different on Derek, foriegn. But it was true. Derek was his friend and he missed him because he just learned that werewolves were the hottest-er, _warmest_ animals on earth. He needed to get Derek to sleep there again. Even though it didn't snow in Beacon Hills, he was still cold every night. That's why he needed Derek.


End file.
